Tales from the Blue
by Bobcat in a Box Productions
Summary: The Nth Doctor and friends go on wacky space adventures. OC's abound.


The Doctor doubled over in pain, clutching the bullet wound in his side.

"Guns," he muttered. "I knew I didn't like them…"

At the very least, he was glad that he had managed to get himself back to the TARDIS before the regeneration started to take hold. The last time he had regenerated from a bullet wound outside the TARDIS, things had gotten…weird.

He could feel the regeneration energy beginning to build, starting at his wound and spreading outward, hot and painful. He gritted his teeth and braced himself, bumping against the TARDIS controls. Through a haze of pain, he heard the familiar sound of his machine taking off, destination unknown. Then he blacked out.

When the Doctor awoke, he was sprawled out on the floor of the TARDIS, his mind feeling extremely fuzzy. Well, at the very least he was conscious, and he remembered who he was.

He paused for a moment, verifying that he did, in fact, remember who he was. Doctor, Time Lord, very handsome (usually)… Everything seemed in order, then.

He noticed a line of smoke rising from the TARDIS console and lurched unsteadily to his feet to have a look.

As he was busy fixing up some fried circuits, the Doctor heard banging on the door of the TARDIS.

Swaying slightly, he made his way to the door, yanking it open in to reveal a very startled young man.

"Hello," said the Doctor. "Can I help you?"

The man took a moment to collect himself. Finally, he managed, "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

The Doctor peeked around the man, taking in the sight of the dimly lit and badly cluttered living room. "Ah, your house. It's nice. Very…erm…" Drawing a blank, he decided to take a new tact. "Hello," he said, offering a hand. "I'm the Doctor."

The man didn't take it. "The Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Doctor of what, exactly?"

"Oh, you know, all kinds of things." He slipped out of the TARDIS, taking care to shut the door behind him. "Nice to meet you…"

"Hey, come on, now," the man started.

The Doctor turned and gave him what he hoped was a disarming smile. "So sorry to intrude… Er, I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your name?"

The man didn't seem to know just how to react. This was how the Doctor liked it. "Um, Brandon. Coulton."

"Brandon. Lovely name." The Doctor walked around casually, taking in the untidy stacks of paperbacks and coffee mugs. He still wasn't feeling completely well. He took a seat on the couch, shoving aside battered paperback copies of I, Robot and the Lord of the Rings trilogy to make room.

Brandon had busied himself with circling the TARDIS in confusion. "How did you even get this in here? It's bigger than the door."

"I don't suppose you have any tea," he said.

"What? No…"

"Pity. Coffee is bad for your health, you know."

"This is great," muttered Brandon, the picture of a man in far over his head. "I wake up to find some giant, blue box in the middle of my house, then some strange woman pops out and says that she's a doctor, then just waltzes in and asks if I have tea…"

"Not_ a_ Doctor, _the_… Wait, did you say woman?"

"Yeah. So?"

The Doctor looked down. "Huh. That's different."

"What, are you not usually a woman?"

"Well, no, now that you mention it… You don't happen to have a mirror, do you?"

His response was interrupted by a very loud, low sound that reverberated throughout the entire building. Whump.

Whump? That was odd…

"Brandon, what was that?"

"I don't know, probably somebody doing construction…"

The Doctor stood, nearly lost his balance, no, her balance, that would take some getting used to, and raced to the window. The street was clear of construction vehicles. Besides, something about the sound hadn't seemed right. One didn't spend dozens of centuries traveling the universe without developing an ear for this sort of thing.

"Well, Brandon," said the Doctor, spinning to face him. "I do hope I'm not intruding…"

"Not intruding? Of course you're-"

"Because you're going to have a houseguest for a few days."

Brandon didn't know what to make of the woman. She was a strange sight in her ill-fitting men's clothing and her wild red hair. She was, he realized, most likely insane. Insane, but clever. After all, she had managed to get that police box thing inside without waking him up. She must have brought it in in pieces and then put it together. She'd probably used lock picks to get the front door open. He still wasn't sure how she managed to do it without waking him, but then, he'd never been a light sleeper.

The whole situation was bizarre, like something out of one of his novels. He knew he should call the police, but to be completely honest he was too curious to let things end just yet. He just had to see how things turned out.

And what if she's a murderer? some sane part of his mind piped up. What if she's run away from some mental hospital and they want her back?

Doubts nagged at Brandon, but in the end, his curiosity won out. I'll just keep an eye on her, he thought. If things get out of hand, I can always call the police later.

This was a weak rationalization at best and he knew it, but he pretended not to.

He turned his attention back to this "doctor", seeing the back of her as she wandered into his kitchen.

He found her eating a banana and pawing through his fridge.

"Oh, hello, Brandon. You know you're out of milk?"

"Look, um, Doctor, I hate to be so blunt, but, well, who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?"

She took a large bite of banana, doubtless giving her a few convenient seconds in which to think of an answer. She chewed contemplatively for a few moments. Finally, she swallowed.

"I would love to explain everything to you," she said.

Brandon could just feel the but coming on.

"But," ah, there it was, "I can't."

"Can you explain how you got in?"

"'Fraid not."

"That's what I thought."

He mentally kicked himself for the monumentally stupid thing he was about to do.

"All right, I guess you can stay. Only for a little while, though."

"Good man, Brandon. Say, you don't happen to have any apples, do you?"

Brandon sighed to himself. Of course, even if he had ordered her to leave, he had the feeling that it wouldn't have accomplished much. She reminded him in an odd way of the stray cat he sometimes fed. She had the same wayward disposition, the same determination to get her own way.

He winced as she took a swig of orange juice straight from the carton.

_How do I get myself into these messes?_


End file.
